


Shatters Like Glass.

by turps



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His trust has been destroyed twice, Isaac isn't sure if he can build it up for a third time.</p>
<p>Coda to 3x4</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatters Like Glass.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to annemari for alpha reading and reassurance, and huge thanks to eledhwenlin for the excellent beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Written for the prompt: loss of home, for h/c bingo on livejournal.

Isaac knows fear.

He knows it too well. The kind of fear that leaves you shaking and gasping for breath. The kind of fear where you’re confused and afraid, where your bones feel like jello and your stomach like lead. He’s trembled in small spaces, sweat-soaked and whimpers caught in the back of his throat, and screamed for hours while trapped in the freezer. His throat raw and nails destroyed, blood staining his fingers as Isaac begged for release, promising his dad that he’d be faster, be more obedient, be _better_.

He’s been afraid of his own body. Pain and panic hitting hard as he changed for the first time -- and the next time, and the many times that came after that.

The point is: Isaac knows fear -- but he doesn’t know fear like this.

“Do you want more? There’s plenty.” Scott’s mom – Melissa, she’d told Isaac to call her Melissa, but he won’t, he _can’t_ \-- walks past, steps hurried as she juggles eating breakfast with getting ready for work. Pushing the plate of waffles toward Isaac, she stops next to Scott, one hand on his shoulder. “Remember, dishes in the dishwasher, and don’t forget to put out the trash.”

“Yeah, mom.” Scott rolls his eyes, but it’s a protest that’s there for show only. That’s obvious in the way Scott tilts his head so he can briefly rest it against his mom’s arm, his mouth curled up into a small smile. “I’ll take it out later.”

“You’d better,” Scott’s mom says, and there’s no hint of a threat, no implied promise of punishment if Scott doesn’t do what he’s told. Even so, Isaac jumps to his feet, his breakfast forgotten.

“I’ll do it now.” Isaac starts for the trashcan, then stops when Scott’s mom shakes her head.

“Scott will do it. It’s one of his chores, even if he forgets that at times.” She frowns, but at the same time she’s smiling, as if sharing a joke. “Finish your breakfast. You need to eat, you’ll need energy for ... stuff.”

“Stuff. Really?” Scott’s smile widens as he drops his fork onto his plate, making it clatter and land in a pool of leftover syrup. “Like homework stuff? Or that I planned on chasing the garbage truck again later stuff?”

“You’d better not chase...” Scott’s mom trails off, her frown deepening when she sees Scott’s wide smile. “Smartass. For that you get to clean the waffle pan, too.”

“Sure,” Scott says easily, and Isaac sits as he tries to understand what he’s seeing. How Scott’s mom accepts being teased with a smile, how she squeezes Scott’s shoulder before walking away, how Scott grabs another waffle with his fingers, ripping it up and dragging the pieces through the smeared syrup left on his plate. 

It’s a scene Isaac’s seen before, but recently only on TV, where families love each other and don’t live every moment walking on eggshells, or live in a place that’s ruined or too sterile. It’s also a scene Isaac wants to be part of, but right now it feels like he’s out of step with the world. Isaac’s been made to feel welcome, but it’s impossible to relax when every moment he’s waiting to be pushed away once again.

“Isaac, if you’ve got dirty laundry, put it with Scott’s, I’ll wash it tonight,” Scott’s mom says, sounding distracted as she rummages in her purse. Isaac can’t see what she’s doing, but he can smell a fresh burst of perfume and chapstick, something that quickly blends with the faint scent of sickness and antiseptic that follows her always. “If you need more clean stuff before that, Scott knows where the machine is. That is if he can remember.”

“I remember,” Scott protests. Standing he swallows the last of his waffle, licking his lips as he picks up his plate, knife and fork. “I put my clothes next to the machine last week.”

Scott’s mom picks up her purse, keys in her hand as she heads for the door. “Ah yeah. How could I forget that? Another pile of shredded and bloodied clothes to deal with.”

Unrepentant, Scott grins wide. “At least I left them next to the machine.”

“That’s nothing to be proud about, and you’re still getting that lesson on removing blood stains,” Scott’s mom says, stern for all of a moment before she smiles at Scott, and then Isaac. “Remember to load the machine. I’ll be back tonight. Order pizza if you’re hungry before that.”

“We will.” Scott turns on the tap, water slashing the counters as he holds his plate under the spray. “I’m cleaning up.”

Scott’s mom sighs, but as close as Isaac looks, how he watches for that first glimpse of an impending outburst, she doesn’t seem angry. “You’re making more mess. Wipe that up when you’re done.”

“I’ll do it.” Isaac has to move. He’s too nervous not to, even if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing right now. What kind of person he has to be to stay in an actual home.

A last fond look, and Scott’s mom leaves for the day, leaving Scott and Isaac alone.

“You don’t have to do that.” Scott’s left the water running, flowing over the plate in the sink, but he’s turned so he can watch Isaac. “You should finish your breakfast.”

“I am finished,” Isaac says, glancing back at a corner of waffle, the only evidence of the stack of waffles Scott’s mom slide onto his plate. Even now, it’s something that feels forbidden to say, an acknowledgement that it’s okay to leave food if he wants. Not that Isaac’s about to say that to Scott. “I don’t mind helping. You let me stay.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to help clean up,” Scott says, but he makes no attempt to stop Isaac as he picks up a towel and starts to wipe down the counter. “You do that, I’ll load the machine.”

As plans go it’s one that works well, even if Isaac has to remind himself it’s okay if the dishes don’t go into the machine perfectly rinsed, and that crumbs on the floor aren’t the end of the world. 

“We’re done.” Scott throws a damp towel into the sink, making no comment when Isaac reflexively picks it up, folding the towel and hanging it up to dry. “Okay. Now we’re done. Come on, I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Cart.”

“You’re not going out? Or to see Stiles?” Or a thousand other things that aren’t Scott staying in with Isaac to play computer games. It’s yet another thing Isaac doesn’t understand, and he adds, “It’s Saturday.”

“It is,” Scott agrees, staring into space, and Isaac thinks Scott’s changed his mind, is about to announce that he’s going to meet Stiles and will see Isaac later. Which is okay, is _fine_. While Isaac likes to think he’s Scott’s friend, he’s no Stiles, someone who’s already part of the McCall family. Not that Isaac’s jealous of that -- much. “In that cupboard behind you. Grab some chips.”

It takes a moment to take in what Scott’s saying, but still, already Isaac’s moving, opening the door to what’s apparently the junk food store. Reaching inside, Isaac grabs a bag of chips and then, at Scott’s pointed look, another.

“We’ll need one each while we’re watching,” Scott says, already heading upstairs. A few steps behind, Isaac follows Scott back to his room, waiting as he collapses onto his bed, and rummages in the mess of covers to find the remote to the TV. “I don’t know what’s on, I haven’t watched cartoons for a while.”

Isaac hasn’t watched them in forever, before everything changed and early morning cartoons were replaced by chores and the inevitable punishments that followed. Truthfully, he’s unsure why Scott’s watching now, but whatever the reason, Isaac’s glad of more time where he can hide from the world. Just for a little while, Isaac isn’t the scared child from before. He can look after himself just fine, but right now holing up in Scott’s bedroom is just what he needs.

“Scooby Doo. Great.” Satisfied with his choice, Scott throws the remote to one side, and shuffles over the bed, leaving room for Isaac to sit down. “We can laugh at the werewolves.”

“You know they’re not real,” Isaac says, and he throws the chips onto the bed, a delaying tactic so he’s got a moment to watch Scott. Right now he’s relaxed, amused as he rests against the wall, his legs stretched out and looking nothing like the person he’s been for too long now. Someone who’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and striving to be the best he can be in situations out of any control. 

“It’s those pesky kids that did it,” Scott says, grinning as he opens a bag of the chips and pulls out a handful, uncaring of the bits that land on the bed. “Sit down already.”

It’s not a command, but it could be. Isaac can feel the promise of command in each word, enough that he instantly sits down, the back of his neck tingling. The problem is, once he is sitting, Isaac’s unsure what to do. He knows how to fight for his life or chase down the monsters. He knows how to behave around his alpha and be a beta taking commands. He’s nailed going to school and pretending he’s nobody but Isaac Lahey, former outcast and loner. But this?

Scott isn’t Isaac’s alpha, but he isn’t another beta either. Isaac's Scott’s friend, but not the kind that hangs out in his room. It doesn’t help that Isaac wants to get close, needing the feeling of pack, but can’t risk yet another rejection.

“Isaac.” Isaac turns and sees Scott watching, all hint of a smile gone as he waits, ensuring that Isaac’s paying attention. “You know you can stay here as long as you like. We won’t throw you out. _I_ won’t throw you out.”

It’s a reassurance Isaac wants to believe. But no matter how much Scott believes it now, things change. And people do too, like Derek, someone who gave Isaac a place to stay, gave him a _home _and then torn that away. Even now, Isaac doesn’t know what he did wrong. He thought things were okay, that he’d found someone who got him, that finally, he’d found something steadfast and safe – but he was wrong. So terribly, painfully wrong. It’s why he simply says, “Thank you.”__

__“No. I mean it.” Scott moves, chips crunching under his legs as he twists to the side and sits next to Isaac, so close they’re touching from shoulder to knee. “My home is your home.”_ _

__Isaac pulls in a breath and lets it out slowly. “It’s your mom’s home, too. She gets a say.”_ _

__“She does,” Scott agrees, and rests his hand on Isaac’s thigh, a gentle, grounding touch as he keeps talking. “She likes you, she wants you to stay, too.”_ _

__“She doesn’t know me, not really.” Isaac has to point that out, his stomach aching when Scott considers the point and then nods._ _

__“Okay, you’re right. She doesn’t know you that well, but she will. And more important than that, I do know you.” Scott sounds sure of that point, confident in what he’s saying as he turns to the side, and pulls Isaac into a tight hug. “I know you and want you to stay.”_ _

__Held close, it feels like, for the first time in days, Isaac can breathe. Relaxing into the hug, he rests his head against Scott’s shoulder and holds on. Longer than a friend’s hug, or even a two werewolves hanging out watching kids’ cartoons hug, this is Isaac taking what he needs, reassurances given via touch, and Isaac closes his eyes, his breathing matching to Scott’s until it feels like they’re one person._ _

__“Isaac.” Unlike the first time, this time Scott says Isaac’s name softly, something gentle and unexpected, so much so that Isaac opens his eyes and sees Scott’s face close to his own. “Isaac,” Scott says again, and it’s instinctive to move closer, Isaac brushing his mouth against Scott’s -- and instantly jerks back._ _

__“Sorry, I don’t....” Isaac’s sure he’s crossed some line, even for pack that likes to get close. But Scott isn’t moving, just keeps holding on, and while Isaac could battle to get free, he doesn’t._ _

__“Don’t say sorry,” Scott says, giving no warning before moving in for a kiss, and this time one that’s more than a brief touch. Every sense hyper-focused, Isaac clings onto Scott’s back, fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt, needing the support as Scott deepens the kiss. It’s everything Isaac wanted and more, something unexpected, but also something that feels right._ _

__Isaac wants to lie on his back and submit, to offer his neck and belly as Scott growls, something low in his throat, the sound rumbling between them._ _

__It’s Scott that pulls back, his mouth wet and breathing heavily, a raw sexuality against a background of cartoons. “I won’t ... not yet.”_ _

__Scott doesn’t explain any further, but that doesn’t matter. Isaac knows him, and that means no matter how right that this feels, Scott won’t break his own lines. Not now, when things have happened so fast._ _

__“It’s okay.” Isaac feels overheated, but he still misses Scott’s touch, even though, he’s only a minute distance away. But it’s a distance that helps clear Isaac’s head, and he says, “You know, you didn’t have to do that. I believed you when you said I could stay.”_ _

__“I did that because I wanted to,” Scott says, looking directly at Isaac. “And one day you will believe me when I say I want you to stay.”_ _

__Isaac wants to protest that he does believe -- but there’s no point. Scott _knows_ him, the good parts and bad. And that more than anything gives Isaac hope. That, this time, Isaac could give all of his trust and not have it thrown back in his face. All he has to do is take that first step, which is why Isaac says, “I hope so,” and that’s something he does believe completely._ _


End file.
